


When The Dead Come Calling

by momothegr8



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-17
Updated: 2014-12-17
Packaged: 2018-03-01 22:19:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2789714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momothegr8/pseuds/momothegr8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is my creative writing assignment that I'm just putting up here so I can get it proofread by a friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When The Dead Come Calling

“Have you ever considered being with another woman?” Luis’ heart almost stopped. He choked and sputtered a bit and he saw her burgundy lips quirk up into a smirk at his exclamation. She was good at those, he thought as she continued her thought.

“I won’t be angry if you have. It’s only natural. One gets tired of the same partner day after day, don’t they?” He could feel her cold, analytical, pressurized gaze concentrated on him from behind his mug of coffee. 

“Well?” She prompted. She wasn’t going to let this one slide. Luis picked his words carefully, swallowing down what could have been his last gulp of coffee he’d ever take.

“I-ah. I-if you really want to know, I suppose I--”

“Good. Because we have a job to do.” Luis sighed in, albeit apprehensive, relief. It felt like the subject had been dropped, and he still felt a bead of sweat drip from his temple. 

"And, by that logic, you must be alright with me being with someone else, too." Before Luis could respond, with what surely would have been a negative response, Natalie had gotten up and whisked out the door, calling demandingly behind her,

"Come on, sweetie, we have work to do!" He grimaced, dreading the idea festering in his wife's skull. 

 

Weeks upon weeks of preparation passed before they could finally implement their plan, but they finally had it all set up. Luis decided to go first, choosing a twenty-three year old barista named Eileen. Natalie had made a bitter comment about how the girl wasn’t the only thing Luis was robbing, but Luis paid her no mind and agreed to meet up with the woman on a date. After several dates, they had quickly become an item, and Luis played his part well as the doting boyfriend. That is, until four months into the relationship.

Natalie had decided before the plan had come into fruition that three months was to be the cut-off point of the charade, and that’s when Luis would distract the victim long enough for her to break into the victim’s house (or use a key if Luis was given one) and heist the joint. At least, that was the plan. Already a month past the cut-off point, Natalie was past suspicion and well past her patience. Luis had been out late that night, later than usual, and she was beginning to regret her plan, her own words coming back to bite her in the ass. She didn’t let it show, however, and waited quietly in the suede chair positioned across from the front door in their living room. She watched the door.

At three in the morning (four hours past the time he was supposed to be home), Luis came fumbling inside, immediately withering under her scrutiny. The barrage of questions that followed was almost as harsh. 

“Where. The hell. Have you been?” He attempted to answer, but was cut off with a her index finger held up to silence him.

“No--No, I know where you’ve been. You’ve been out with that girl again like you have been for over a month too long.” She sneered at him and he looked away guiltily. “Did you forget, jerk? We’re married!” He managed to interject into her rage.

“I know that!” She turned on him and hissed in frustration, venom dripping from her words.

“Then act like it.” She let the words resonate for a bit before adding as an afterthought. 

“I want her gone.” She turned on her heel, stormed up the stairs, and that was that. 

 

Luis didn’t mean to fall in love with her. Or, at least, that’s what he told himself. It was all supposed to go smoothly, just like his wife had planned. He felt a lump in his throat, the thought of his wife resonating through a guilty skull. It was the morning after their argument and, true to Natalie's word, he was going out with Eileen again. He felt ashamed, blood burning in his cheeks as he tugged on his shirt, and he crept out of the house carefully, being sure to not wake the sleeping cobra upstairs.

In the car, a young feeling blossomed in his chest at the thought of meeting her again. He recognized the feeling well, tracing it back to when he first met Natalie. He allowed a grin to creep up and permute his features, pulling up in the wet, gravelly driveway of his girlfriend's modest abode. She was waiting outside, dressed for work, her long Havana twists pulled back into a stylish bun. She smiled, brighter than the sun, and quickly rushed into Luis' vehicle. She pushed a stray twist behind her ear and looked up at him coyly. His heart fluttered. 

“I can’t thank you enough for taking me to work, hon.” He was already down the road, trying to shake off the nerves from the previous night. He, uncomfortably, sent a smile her way and hoped he didn’t look too out of place. She didn’t notice, seemingly distracted by the contents of her bag, as she was now searching frantically through it. He cleared his throat, glad there was no focus on him.

“What’s wrong? You lose something?” She let out an exasperated noise and rubbed her eye, frustrated with herself.

“I left my keys.” She sighed and looked up at him sheepishly. “You mind going back for it?” He gave her a reassuring chuckle before turning the vehicle around. She brought herself to laugh too, and Luis couldn’t help but feel a sense of awkwardness in the confined space, at least to him. He pulled into the driveway once more and stopped her from getting up from the leather seat. She looked at him in confusion.

“Don’t worry, babe.” He smiled and noticed the warmth blooming in her cheeks. “I’ll get it. On the coffee table like always, right?” She nodded and he got out of the car, making his way into the unpresuming single home. Breaking through the crunching of gravel underneath the soles of his shoes was the sound of something dropping and breaking from inside the house. He looked back to the car to make sure Eileen wasn't watching and withdrew the handgun from his waistband. Near-silently, he snuck into the house to quickly eliminate whoever had the nerve to break in. He heard a familiar voice, saw a familiar head of swept back, close-cut dark hair.

“Oh my God, Nat!” He recognized the defining hiss from the darkness. Natalie didn't accept that she was found very lightly, and offered an indignant (and rather immature) response.

“What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be off playing house with Miss Piggy over there?” She sent a pointed glare to the, thankfully still clueless, woman in Luis’ vehicle.

“I should be asking you the same question. What the hell kind of stunt are you trying to pull?” His volume rose in an attempt to drown out the sound of whatever venom-soaked riposte the woman had in store for him. It didn’t work.

“You took too long.” Her razorblade voice cut through his baritone easily without the need for volume, her words vexed and bitter as she continued. “I decided to take matters into my own hands.” She inspected her fingernails indignantly. Luis’ fingers tightened on the gun and he attempted to speak steadily.

“Natalie, you need to leave.”

“Why? So you can keep playing pretend?” Anger bubbled up in his throat.

“Get out.”

“No. Why should I? This was my plan and I’m seeing it through!” She was shouting now, and his irritation rose to the surface. 

“I WOULDN’T HAVE TO PRETEND IF YOU WOULD JUS--”

There were a few sounds that came after his outburst. One was the door creaking open just a little more, the second was of a gunshot ringing loud in the room, louder than the two’s voices combined. The last one, arguably the most powerful of all, was a strangled, weak, guttural cry followed by dead weight hitting wet gravel. The room, once filled with sound, filled with a sort of death-like stillness. Almost smothered in the quiet, was a final, breathy utterance, weighed down with realization.

“Eileen?”

They never spoke of this again.


End file.
